Sacrifice
by Luvvycat
Summary: A POTC:DMC interlude. To fulfil an ancient prophecy, Chief and resident god-in-human form Jack Sparrow must impregnate the Pelegostos' "Chosen One" -- the girl destined to be the consort of the god. Please heed the "M" rating, as it is well-deserved!
1. The Sweetly Baited Trap

**Sacrifice  
**by Luvvycat

* * *

_**Author's Note:** Please mind the rating -- this story is rated "M" for a very good reason (particularly in the next two chapters). Those of a more sensitive, easily-offended nature may want to steer clear of the perilous waters ahead. Be ye warned: Smut will ensue!_

_May it be written in the stars and the annals of fanfic history that the all-powerful Mouse owns all things POTC, and it is not my intent to infringe on any rights held by such entity. This little tale is intended only as a little harmless fun, for the reading pleasure of fellow fans. The premise is also a thinly-veiled excuse to write some Jack-smut!_

_'Ta, luvs ... and enjoy!_

_-- Cat_

* * *

**Chapter 1  
The Sweetly-Baited Trap**

The girl stood in the doorway, the dying rays of the setting sun at her back limning her in a halo of rose-gold light. Eyes downcast, she looked uncertain as to what to do next. Without raising her head, her dark, glittering eyes darted about the interior of the hut, like the eyes of a frightened bird, taking in every detail they could: the ring of stones in the centre of the room containing a small fire which provided a wan illumination that softened the shadows; the raised nest of dried island grasses against the wall opposite the door that served as a crude sleeping pallet; and, most of all, the strange and mysterious figure sitting in the midst of that bed ... her people's Chief and god.

He sat in an attitude of meditation, eyes closed, legs crossed tailor-style, slightly cupped hands resting palms-up upon his knees. The flickering light of the fire set shadows dancing over the planes and angles of his swarthy face, infusing the painted eyes on his cheeks and eyelids with the illusion of life and awareness. The long, ropy strands of his thick braids, laced with their many beads and baubles, appeared to writhe like restless serpents in the shifting half-light.

She let the curtain, fashioned from long strands of small, strung human bones, fall back into place behind her, and waited for the god to acknowledge her.

What with the multitude of false eyes staring at her from his painted face, it took her a few moments to realise that his true eyes had opened, and were now regarding her speculatively ...

* * *

Jack Sparrow, barefoot and dressed for sleep in naught but shirt, sash and breeches, looked up as his senses registered the girl's presence. His tall boots and neatly-folded waistcoat lay on the floor next to his bed, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbow, the loosened neckline of the billowy garment gapping open to expose a wide "v" of suntanned chest. His own dark, glittering eyes moved over her, sharp and wary, taking in the details of her form.

As with all the Pelegosto women, she was not tall -- just under five feet, by his estimation, with a compact, muscular but still slim build and nut-brown skin that glowed with a golden patina in the firelight. Her face was painted in the ritualistic fashion typical of her people, slashes of bright colour streaking her dusky visage like multi-hued comets blazing against a night sky, and she wore nothing but a leather bandeau around her chest and a short skirt comprised of skins and native grass that left most of her lithe legs and lean midriff exposed to his sight. Her dusty-dark hair, not yet cropped short as was the custom for married women of the tribe, was plaited and wound around her head, wreathed with a fragrant coronet of freshly-cut native flowers, matching the floral garland draped around her neck.

It had been nearly two weeks since the _Black Pearl _had been run aground on the island of the Pelegostos -- a result of Jack's frantic and ill-advised attempt to elude Davy Jones' pet leviathan, the Kraken -- and during that time Jack had been forced to watch as his crewmembers were picked off one by one, to be roasted on the community spit and their carcases reduced to naked bones by the peculiar appetite of the cannibalistic natives.

By a stroke of good luck, Jack had been able, thus far, to escape a similar fate. For some reason, years ago, upon Jack's first visit to this very island, he had been made Chief of the Pelegosto tribe, a status which had now been restored to him. Further, the tribe shaman had now declared Jack to be the embodiment of the Pelegostos' god -- apparently due to some daft ancient prophecy about said god coming trapped in the body of a strange creature with teeth of burnished gold and jewelled snakes for hair -- and Jack, ever the survivor and opportunist, had been quick to play into their beliefs to save his own skin.

Unfortunately, though Jack _had_ tried, he had not also been able to save all of his men, a fact which troubled him, but not as much as the thought of losing his _own_ life. His efforts to portray his crew as valuable servants of the god -- a sort of coterie of hirsute, rough-talking, rum-soaked handmaidens -- failed to fly with the Pelegostos, who were no doubt reluctant to forgo the bounteous banquet which providence had so kindly delivered to them.

At present, Jack's cooperation with his devoted followers-_cum_-captors had earned him not only a venerated place as the tribe's Chief, but also exclusive use of the largest and most comfortable hut in the village, as well as his choice of the best comestibles (though Jack scrupulously restricted his diet to the indigenous fruits and vegetables of the island; the thought of eating his own crew was something he, quite literally, could not stomach).

But he knew his reprieve, as well as his tenure as resident Chief and man-god, to be only temporary, for the Pelegostos had decided the flesh-imprisoned spirit of their god needed to be released. And that meant that there was soon to be a huge feast in celebration of their god -- with Jack slated to be both guest of honour, and main course.

He had been attempting, on an almost daily basis, to make his escape, but he found that the Pelegostos were quite a bit smarter than their deceptively unsophisticated appearance would lead one to believe. They had managed to thwart him at every turn, and now kept an almost constant watch on him. He had been sitting on his cot, formulating yet another plan for escape -- this one involving setting fire to his hut -- when he heard the _swish_ of the bony curtain, looked up and noticed the girl standing there ...

"Hello?" he asked her, then as her eyes met his with a blank expression, he repeated the greeting in Umshoko, the Pelegostos' native tongue. Jack, who had a quite facile mind when it wasn't muddled with copious quantities of rum, had been quick to pick up the rudiments of the language upon his initial visit to the island, and his strange admixture of Umshoko peppered with English phrases, pig Latin, and Jack's own unique brand of flamboyant body language had proved effective in communicating with the locals.

The girl remained silent, and cast her eyes down again, shyly. "Can I be of some assistance to you, young miss?" Jack pressed, a little testily. If her presence had no specific purpose, and she wasn't here to help him escape, then he really had very little use for her ...

Her head jerked up, and she fixed him with a look part determination, part fear. "I am ... for you," she said, her soft voice barely more than a whisper.

Jack was naturally confused, and wasn't sure he had heard her correctly. "Come again?" he said in English, before remembering to rephrase it in her native language.

She seemed to gather her courage, squared her shoulders and repeated, with a shade more confidence, "I am for you, Most Revered One."

Jack cocked his head to one side as he regarded her with narrowed eyes, trying to puzzle out exactly what the girl meant. While he cogitated, the girl stepped forward tentatively, reached behind her and started untying the lacing of her bandeau.

At last realisation dawned, and Jack's kohl-smudged eyes went wide in his pigment-decorated face, crowning the rows of painted eyes already adorning each of his cheeks. "Oh ... you're _for_ me!" he said, finally comprehending. He uncrossed his legs and sat up straighter on his pallet-bed. As she continued to work at her lacings, Jack flung up one hand in what he hoped was the universal gesture for _stop_. "Now, there's no need for that, missy ... though I do heartily appreciate the kind and most generous offer. But I really must say, I'm not in the mood ..."

His action and words had the desired effect. She froze, and her fingers ceased pulling at the ties of her top. But then a decidedly _un_desired effect quickly followed, as her face crumpled into a stricken expression, and her eyes filled with tears.

Jack grew immediately distressed at her distress, not sure what he had done to cause it. Surely, his polite refusal of her unwanted advances could not have had such a traumatic effect on her?

He rose from his modest bed and approached the girl, making placating gestures, his ring-encrusted hands fluttering like jewelled moths in the firelight. "Aw, now, don't cry, dearie! I'm flattered, _really_ I am, but I do have to say you're just not my type ..." _I'd say, at least five years too young, and many years of experience too short! _he thought, but didn't say out loud. "Now, if you'd just be on your way ..." He tried to shepherd her toward the door.

But the girl's anguish only increased. "I have displeased you ..."

"No, no ... you haven't _dis_pleased me ... it's just that you don't _need_ to please me ... at least, not in _that_ way ..."

"I have failed to please the god. I have disgraced my family, and dishonoured my people ..." she sobbed.

Jack rolled his eyes in vexation. What _was_ she nattering on about? Why didn't she just take the hint, and go away?

Clearly an alternate course of action was required. Perhaps if he took a slightly different tack ... heard her out, let her say her piece ... she'd then leave.

Sighing in annoyed resignation, he drew next to her and draped one consoling arm around her shaking, paint-daubed shoulders, and since there was nowhere else in the hut to sit, he led her to the bed and sat her down. "There, there ..." he said, trying to sound soothing, sitting beside her and patting her hand in a calming manner. "There's no need for tears. It's nothing personal, you understand ... it's only that I have more pressing things on me mind right now."

His glance took in her skimpy costume, and the floral decorations bedecking her person. She had certainly taken care to tart herself up for him, and had clearly put a bit of forethought and effort into the preparations. But what was her game? What was she playing at, a girl her age, coming here in this manner, offering herself to him?

He eyed her warily. "By the way, do your parents know where you are?" He was in deep enough trouble as it was. The last thing he needed right now, on top of everything else he had to deal with, was having to face the wrath of some enraged cannibal father defending his wayward daughter's virtue. After all, it wasn't _his_ fault she was here, throwing herself at his head. _He_ hadn't invited her ... she had come to his hut all on her onesies.

She took a shaky breath. "The entire village knows where I am. I come for their sake."

Her words gave Jack pause. This was _most _strange indeed, and hinted at some sort of tribal conspiracy. _Cheeky of them to go ahead and make plans, and not inform their own Chief ..._

But silence would not gain him any answers. Best to start with a simple question. "What is your name, my child?" he asked, in what he hoped was his Most Beneficent God-ly tone of voice.

"I am Maleeka," she sniffled.

Jack's eyes widened at the sound of her name. For the Pelegostos, as with many native tribes around the world, names had distinct meanings. And Jack knew that _Maleeka,_ in Umshoko, translated literally into _Black Pearl _...

Jack pondered the strange coincidence ... or was it actually the capricious hand of that bitch-goddess Fate, reaching down yet again to stir up trouble and make an even bigger muss of his life?

His arm squeezed the girl's shoulders encouragingly. "Now, stop your crying, little Maleeka, and tell Uncle Jacky all about it ..."

Between her tears, she explained, "A long time ago, I was chosen, of all the girls of the tribe, to be the consort of the god."

His eyebrows shot up, disappearing under his headwrap. "Ah ... _consort_." He knew what _that _meant, and didn't like the sound of it at all. Though not possessed of the gift of prophecy himself, Jack nevertheless had a disquieting premonition of where this tale was going ...

"And when the god came, as prophesied, the Chosen One would go to him, and lie with him ..."

_Bugger! I was afraid of that! _Jack carefully removed his arm from around Maleeka's shoulders and scooted over, deliberately putting a little more distance between himself and the girl. "I see ..." he said, uneasily.

"And, according to the prophecy, if the Chosen One were to spend one night with the god, from sunset to sunrise, lie with him, and conceive and bear a child by him, my people would be ensured health and prosperity for a thousand full moons. The Chosen One would be honoured among all women, her family esteemed above all others, and her son or daughter become Chief of the tribe, to be worshipped for all time ..."

"Until they're cooked and eaten, that is!" Jack interjected, with a curl of his lip, the firelight sparking off his gold teeth.

She turned to him, and he was faintly relieved to see that her tears had stopped. "Oh, no, Revered One ... it is bad luck to partake of the flesh of a child born of the union of a god and the Chosen One! In fact, it is forbidden!"

Jack sulked a bit at this strange, and most unfair, double-standard. _Death is good enough for the god incarnate, but not for his by-blow? What kind of rum deal is that?_

Nevertheless, the wheels of his mind were turning. "And what would happen to the Chosen One if she refused to lie with the god, or if he refused her?" asked Jack, curious, seeking some sort of loophole to the prophecy that could work to his advantage.

"Then it is decreed that the Chosen One's spirit will be released at the dark of the moon, and her body consumed by her people ..."

Jack made a face of dismay and disgust. _Definitely _not_ an option, then. _Another thought occurred to him. "What if the Chosen One laid with the god, but _didn't_ conceive?"

"Then it would be presumed the sacrifice was deemed unworthy, the Chosen One would go back to her family, though disgraced, and another girl would be selected to receive the seed of the god."

"Then, no dire, deleterious, or otherwise deadly consequences would befall the Chosen One should she fail to find herself in the ... er, family way?"

"No, but --"

Jack grasped at this straw eagerly. "Well ... then what say we just _pretend_ that the requisite consorting took place, and you can just run along back to your family?" He made little shooing gestures toward the door.

She looked at him in shock. "Oh, no, I cannot do that!"

Damn his bad luck ... the girl was honest. "And what would a little white lie hurt, honestly?" he pressed his case. "I won't tell!" He leaned in and whispered, conspiratorially, patting her hand, "It'll be just between you and me! Our little secret, eh?" He tried to rise and pull her after him, but she stood -- or rather, _sat _-- her ground, and wouldn't budge.

"The Holy Man is wise in the ways of the gods! He will cast the sacred bones, and read the truth in them! He will _know_ that the joining did not take place!" She grew agitated as she tried to explain, and Jack, who was at least conversant if not fluent in Umshoko, found himself having trouble keeping up, her rapid string of words tumbling from her lips with ever-increasing speed like grain from a punctured sack, her voice rising to a pitch approaching hysteria.

"If I do not lie with you, then I fail to fulfil the prophecy, and my people will fall into ruin for a thousand full moons!" Her tears flowed freely now, the ritual paint running down her dusky cheeks in multi-coloured rivulets like melting candle wax. "Not only will I be disgraced, but my family will be banished from the village, and my people will partake of my flesh at the dark of the moon!" When she turned to him, her eyes reflected stark terror. "You cannot reject me! I _cannot_ fail ... !"

Jack winced. He felt for the girl -- _really_ he did! But he was beginning to feel a bit like a hapless insect who had, unawares, wandered into the clutches of a Venus flytrap -- though the trap was sweetly-baited, and very temptingly attractive, it couldn't help but end up badly for the poor fly ...

"I see your unfortunate predicament," he said, trying to calm her, "But, darlin', I've got me _own_ problems right now ..."

She turned and flung herself into Jack's arms, desperation lending her uncommon strength for a girl of her diminutive stature. "I beg you, Revered One. Take me to your bed! Let me fulfil the prophecy, and I will do my best to please you! You will find me a most willing and able lover!"

"Yes, I can see that!" Jack croaked as, with difficulty, he was at last able to extricate himself from her grasp. He held her at arm's length, his eyes taking in her face and form, trying to estimate her age. "Just out of curiosity, child ... How old are you?"

The girl seemed nonplussed by the change of direction in their conversation, and hesitated, with another sniffle, before answering, "Two-hundred and ten full moons have risen since I entered this world."

Jack struggled to make the calculation in his head. _One full moon a month, twelve months in a year ... Sweet Jesus, but she's young! Not yet eighteen -- but, then again, hardly a child ... _

"That seems awfully young to be a consort ..." Jack went on, sceptically.

"Oh, but most girls of the tribe are taken in marriage by the time they reach two-hundred moons, so, compared to them, I am quite old. A girl is considered a woman, and ready for a husband, upon her first bleeding. My own sister was taken in marriage when she was but one-hundred and twenty-five moons!" Her face fell and her lower lip trembled, and he saw the shine of fresh tears silver her eyes just before she dropped her gaze to the floor. "She was wed not quite ten moons, and heavy with her first child, when the gods took her ..."

Jack nodded grimly, personally appalled, but unsurprised. In his travels, he had seen many other cultures with similar practices toward their women, many much worse than marrying young, immature girls off as child-brides. He knew of one island tribe that threw young maidens into a volcano, others that forced or sold their daughters into prostitution, and yet others that performed ritual mutilations or other torturous procedures upon their young women. Barbaric by "civilized" European standards, certainly, but Jack had learned long ago the folly of condemning the peculiar customs of strange cultures.

He spoke to her, gently. "Tell me, Maleeka -- have you ever been with a man," at her blank expression at his euphemism, he clarified, "That is, have you ever _lain_ with a man before?"

She was aghast. "Oh, no! The Chosen One is for the god, and the god alone! No other man is permitted to lie with the Chosen One! Or, as punishment, _both_ their spirits would be released to the gods ...!"

_This just keeps getting better and better! _Jack thought with sardonic irony.

He could count the number of times he'd been with a virgin on the fingers of one hand -- providing four fingers had been cut off first! Jack generally steered clear of virgins, preferring more mature, and infinitely more experienced, women -- wharf doxies, lusty serving wenches, or bored and lonely married ladies looking for a bit of fun on the side. Women who knew what they were doing, pursued their pleasures with skill and enthusiasm, and didn't need to be coaxed, coddled, or treated with kid gloves like some fragile family heirloom.

Virgins were just too troublesome -- they placed an extremely high value on their "favours", had much higher expectations of a man, and invariably insisted on some sort of commitment before, and after, the deed was done. And commitment was anathema to a man who cherished his freedom as passionately as Jack did.

He simply didn't dabble in virgins, even back in the days when he was one himself. Why, even his own first time -- when he had been even younger than Maleeka -- had been with an attractive young widow of his acquaintance, more than ten years his senior ...

A wicked little smile quirked Jack's mouth at the recollection of his own awakening, and the delightful hours he had spent in Julianna's bed, learning how to give and receive pleasure. She had been _such_ a good teacher, and he a most willing and enthusiastic pupil ...

With an effort, he abandoned the happy memory, coming back to the present, and his current, complicated state of affairs.

At his frown, Maleeka went on quickly, "Are you concerned that I will not know how to please you? Though I am as yet untouched, I _have_ been well-schooled in the manner of pleasing a man, and serving a god ..." Before Jack could react, she leaned forward and planted her mouth upon his, wrapping one sinewy arm around his neck, the other hand trying to worm its way down the front of his breeches ...

Jack's eyes flew wide open at the unexpected attack. He tried to prise the girl off of him -- _Ye gods! This lass is like a barnacle! _-- and eventually, with a _pop_ like a champagne cork, he was able to free her from his lips. "Mind the goods, luv!" he said in strained English as he removed her hand from a very sensitive place, then crossed his legs to prevent further groping of said goods.

"Again, I have displeased you!" she said abjectly, and looked as though she would burst into tears once more.

Jack's mind was in a whirl as he tried to figure out what to do. He'd never been faced with such a quandary before ... take a young, inexperienced native girl to bed, against his admittedly loose but nevertheless existent scruples, or refuse her and let her die a horrible death-by-roasting-and-eating at the hands -- and teeth -- of her people?

Being a pirate, Jack was hardly a slave to morality, and certainly no prude when it came to his own sexual behaviour. In fact, he was quite adventurous in that area. However, there _were_ certain lines that his personal code of ethics, albeit dicey, just would not allow him to cross.

For example, though rape was not an uncommon practice amongst the more unsavoury factions of his pirate brethren, Jack held a deep personal abhorrence of it, and forbade any member of his crew from engaging in it, upon the severest of penalties. He gave no quarter on that count, and had only to enforce that rule once for the crew to get the message, loud and clear, that such behaviour would not be countenanced. And, regardless of the circumstances, Jack would never, _ever_ consider sleeping with a child -- a girl as young as, say, Maleeka's now-dearly-departed eleven-year-old sister -- though he knew of many a man who had no such qualms about sating their sexual appetites in such a manner ...

On the other hand, it was common knowledge that girls matured much faster in tropical climes, and, at nearly eighteen years of age, though young by Jack's personal standards, Maleeka could no longer truly be considered a child ...

He sighed inwardly. Moral dilemmas were just not his cup of tea, and that's why he tried to avoid them at all costs.

_Talk about the lesser of two evils!_

_Sex, or death ..._

_Sex ..._

_Death ..._

_Hmmmm ..._

When weighed, one against the other, the answer became suddenly clear. He just couldn't see any other way around it.

He couldn't very well let her _die_, now, could he? Not over such a trifling thing ... after all, a little consensual slap-and-tickle never hurt anyone, and certainly wasn't fatal ...

_Besides_, Jack rationalized, _it's exceedingly bad form to refuse a gift ..._

So there really was no other viable option.

Sex, it was ...

* * *


	2. A Prophecy Fulfilled

**Sacrifice  
**by Luvvycat

_**

* * *

**_

Author's Note:

Oh, ye of a more sensitive or easily-offended nature, be forewarned, for there lies smut ahead ...

* * *

**Chapter 2  
A Prophecy Fulfilled**

"Now, luv ... listen to me. Listen to me," Jack begged Maleeka, until her eyes fastened on his face, and she seemed to grow calmer. "For the last time, you have _not_ displeased me ... far from it! It's only ..." He sighed. _The sacrifices one must make to save an innocent life ... "_Well, if we're goin' to do this, we may as well do it right. There's no need to rush things ..."

He looked the girl over again with a critical eye, not as an unwanted intruder this time, but as a potential lover, and shrugged internally as he thought, _I've seen worse. I've _slept _with worse, though not quite so young, and not while sober ..._

He peered at Maleeka's face, and found that, under the layers of ritual paint now streaked with her tears, she appeared to be a relatively attractive girl, by Pelegosto standards. Her full, moist lips were the colour of ripe berries, and looked eminently kissable, and when she smiled tentatively at him, the teeth behind those lips, though not exactly pearly white, were nowhere near the advanced state of discolouration as those of most of her fellow tribespeople. He also noted that they had not yet been filed to sharp points, as many of the Pelegostos were wont to do.

As he looked into her large, liquid brown eyes -- like melted chocolate laced with honey -- he judged them to be her most arresting feature. Strangely, they reminded him of another pair of honeyed brown eyes set in an aristocratically pale and more delicately-featured face ...

At the thought, he felt a faint, but definitely palpable, stirring in his groin ...

As his eyes left her face and dropped lower, he saw that the girl _did_ have a nice figure, if perhaps a shade underdeveloped for her age -- a flat, well-toned stomach with her little dimple of a navel proudly displayed in its centre, and smooth, unblemished skin the colour of cocoa. When he lay his hand against the plane of her stomach, causing her to flinch slightly but not in a bad way, he idly noticed that his sun-bronzed skin was nearly as dark as hers. Beneath his calloused palm, she felt soft, though slightly slick with a nervous sheen of sweat -- like damp silk. He stroked her stomach, and she flinched again with a little intake of breath.

And her hair ...

He took the crown of flowers from her head, tossing it casually aside, then moved to remove the ivory pins holding up her hair. He quickly dropped them on the dirt floor of the hut as he noted with mild disgust that they appeared to be fashioned from carved human bone. He hoped it wasn't anyone he knew!

Regaining his composure, he undid her braid, running his fingers through her thick tresses, fanning her dark hair out and around her shoulders.

She _did _have nice hair. Jack had always had a weakness for women with a beautiful head of hair ... it was usually the first thing his fingers itched to feel ... which was odd, considering all the delightful places one could touch on a woman.

Leaning in, he noticed that she certainly _smelled_ good -- so _feminine_ -- like tropical flowers with an undertone of a strange, spicy musk. Not at all like the rest of the Pelegostos he had encountered thus far, where hygiene didn't appear to be an overriding concern ... though compared to a boatload of unwashed, sweaty, rum-breathed sailors, he supposed they weren't all _that_ bad. He supposed that she had been freshly bathed in preparation for her audience with the god, before being anointed with fragrant oils, adorned with the painted symbols, and draped in the native flora.

Sitting there, breathing in her warm, perfumed scent, feeling her soft skin beneath one rough hand, her luxuriant hair threaded through the fingers of the other ... he felt another definite twitch down below.

Rising to his knees on the pallet, moving carefully so as not to alarm her, he raised and turned the girl so that she was on her knees as well, facing him. She looked up at his face, her eyes enormous, and under his hands he could feel her trembling.

_Easy, Jacky ... take things slow _... he reminded himself. _She's scared enough as it is. You don't want to make it any worse for her ..._

He tried to concentrate on Maleeka's best features, starting with her high, strong cheekbones. With the tips of his fingers barely skimming her skin, he traced the arch of each cheek, from apple to temple, around and behind the delicate shells of her ears (which, he noticed in passing, were pierced and adorned with earrings fashioned from a single human tooth), then down the angle of her jaw. With his fingertips lightly cradling her face, and his thumbs poised under her chin, he tilted her face up, and placed a gentle, relatively chaste kiss upon her full lips, before his mouth started sliding slowly, tantalizingly across hers.

To his surprise, he felt her nose twitch, and she giggled against his mouth. He drew away slightly, brows lowering in confusion. This was definitely _not_ the reaction he was expecting, nor the one he was accustomed to receiving from women! He looked at her strangely, a question in his eyes.

When she saw his expression of puzzlement, she stopped giggling, and her eyes widened in horror. "Forgive me, Esteemed One! I did not mean to offend you, but ..." She reached out a hand and touched his moustache, running her fingers down either side of it.

Jack broke into a crooked grin as he realized what the matter was. The Pelegosto men, as a rule, did not grow facial hair, but rather went clean-shaven. She most likely had never _seen_ a moustache before, let alone felt the tickle of one against her face.

He chuckled deep in his throat, considering that the tickle of a moustache must be infinitely preferable to being pricked by the sharp bone facial piercings sported by most Pelegosto men. The sound of his throaty laugh, as well as the glint of his golden smile, seemed to reassure Maleeka that she had not offended him in the least. She smiled tentatively in return.

"Feels strange, eh?" he asked in a faintly amused voice, the backs of his fingers brushing the side of her face. Placing one hand on either side of her waist, he drew her closer, and added in a low, velvety purr, "Let's try that again, shall we?"

He moved in again, and this time before he kissed her, he diverted his course, taking a moment to brush his moustache lightly against her nose, her upper lip, her chin, the corners of her mouth, to get her inured to the feel of it. His black eyes studied her reactions closely, shrewdly, until he judged that the novelty had worn off and she would no longer be distracted by the sensation. Then, he angled his head slightly, and tenderly kissed her mouth.

He found her lips soft and pliant under his, and her response this time was much different, and infinitely more gratifying. He heard her make a sound -- not a giggle now, but a sudden intake of breath akin to a sigh -- and he felt her warm hands cover his where they lay against her waist, then slowly start gliding upwards, past his wrists, elbows, and shoulders, until her arms wound around his neck. As she took a more active role in the process, and the kiss deepened, his hands moved from her waist to the small of her back, stroking her skin lightly before pulling her firmly against him.

Scruples notwithstanding, and despite the fact that he had embarked upon this venture with the greatest reluctance, he found himself starting to rise to the occasion, responding physically to the feel of her in his arms, her hips pressed against his, the warm, floral-musky smell of her filling his head, making him quite dizzy. Though, compared to him, she was practically a child, to his arms and to his senses she had the _feel_ of a woman.

Her lips parted easily under his, and as his tongue eased into her mouth, his hands travelled up her back, finding the leather thong at the closure of her bandeau, his nimble fingers working to finish the task she had begun earlier. Before long, he was holding the loose leather string in his fingers, and the only thing keeping the bandeau modestly across her breasts was the pressure of her body against his.

He let the thong drop from his fingers to the dried-grass surface of the bed, and now both of his splayed hands began a journey across Maleeka's smooth, naked back, stroking along either side of her spine from neck to waist -- like a handler calming a skittish colt -- then back up again, over and over, his mouth still fastened on hers, tongue dipping in to meet hers teasingly, then retreating again.

He pulled back slightly, allowing her to lean back in the circle of his supporting arms, and the bandeau at last slipped from her chest, revealing all of her to his approving gaze. Her pert breasts were high and firm, not large but well-proportioned, the darker areolae surrounding dusky nipples the same colour as her berry-stained lips.

As he continued to peer at her from under his fringe of dark lashes, her eyelids slowly opened, and he recognized the glaze of desire in her eyes. "Esteemed One," she asked breathily, "Would you like to take me now?"

_My, the young lady certainly is disconcertingly direct, isn't she? _He smiled wryly, easing her back down to the pallet until she was sitting on her heels. "You're killin' the mood, luv," he gently rebuked, waving a chastising finger in her face, then, to take the sting out of his words, he lightly tapped the tip of her nose with his forefinger, playfully.

He saw fear rise again in her eyes, dimming the desire. "Y-you do not want me?" she asked in a tremulous voice. "You will not take me?"

Jack flashed her a lopsided grin filled with sensual promise as he murmured, "Don't worry, luv. We'll get to that, by and by ..." To reassure her, he bent down and kissed her again, not for very long, but with skill and enthusiasm. When he came up again, he asked her, "Tell me, Maleeka ... Is there anything in your prophecies that say the god cannot also please his Chosen One?"

The girl was silent, her brow knit in a perplexed frown, and for a moment Jack thought that perhaps she hadn't understood his question. But then she replied, "No. The prophecy only speaks of the Chosen One's duty to serve and please the god."

"Ah ... I thought as much," Jack said sagely. Like most religious doctrines, they were big on the _you-must-do_'s but tended to gloss over the _you-will-gets_. He spread his hands, then brought them together as if in prayer. "Well, then, it pleases the god for him to see to his Chosen One's pleasure, before he takes his own."

Maleeka looked at him strangely, clearly understanding his words, but not the concept behind them. "Why would the Most Revered One concern himself with pleasing _me_?" Her eyes showed nothing but confusion.

"Because ..." his hands moved to brush her hair back off her shoulders, then lingered on either side of her neck, his thumbs gently massaging her collarbone. "I want to make sure _you_ enjoy this as much as _I _do."

That much, at least, was true. He knew that, unless she was prepared in the right manner and well-stimulated beforehand, she was going to go through a great deal of pain, and the last thing he wanted to do was to cause this girl unnecessary pain. He wanted to steer her gently through the treacherous shoals ahead with a light touch upon the wheel, not master her with a hard and commanding hand as though ploughing through the rough swells of a hurricane gale.

He wished, not for the first time, that he had access to rum ... not just for him, to brace himself for the task at hand, but also for the girl -- not enough to get her drunk, but enough to ease her into a state of relaxation. The more relaxed she was, the easier it would go for her.

His hands travelled down the front of her body to her waist, brushing her breasts lightly on the way down. Bending his head to her neck, he started kissing her -- tiny, nibbling kisses down the length, from ear to shoulder. She sighed and tilted her head to one side, arching her neck to afford him better access. He spent some time nuzzling the shallow indent just above her collarbone, working it with tongue and lips, before drawing his tongue slowly back up the slender column. She shivered, her breath escaping in a little gasp of pleasure, and his lips curved into a self-satisfied smile against her skin.

As his lips started their journey again, retracing their previous route, his hands glided up her torso to cup both of her breasts, his open palms just grazing their tips, moving in small circles, until he felt her nipples harden under his hands. He found the brush of them against his palms as stimulating to him as it was to her, and a shiver coursed through his own body as he stirred and began to stiffen ...

He eased her down to the grass mattress, she on her back, he stretched out beside her, one hand resting upon her hip, his mouth moving to take the closest nipple into his mouth. She inhaled deeply, and her breast rose to meet his eager lips. Stretching his mouth wide, he drew as much of her small breast as he could into his open mouth with a gentle suction, then swirled his tongue around the erect tip.

She moaned, and twined her fingers into his dreadlocks, holding him to her breast, clearly enjoying what he was doing to her. Slanting his gaze upwards, he regarded her face, and his masculine ego was pleased to see the effect he was having on her. Her eyes were closed to mere slits, her dark face flushed, her lips slightly parted and swollen from his kisses, her breath coming in little, shallow gasps. He altered his technique slightly, sucking a little harder, his tongue now rapidly flicking. Her moan became an urgent little whimper, and he felt her hip move under his palm as her lower body began to shift restlessly.

It was time to begin preparing her, in earnest, for the ordeal ahead.

As he continued to stimulate her breasts with his lips and tongue, he slid his hand from her hip to the flat of her stomach, massaging her smooth flesh in slow, lazy circles, before charting a more southerly course, his hand travelling lower ... lower ...

He parted the fronds of her grass skirt, seeking the mossy triangle between her legs. Probing her secret folds gently until he found the right spot, he eased a finger into her ...

She gasped in surprise, and he felt her fingers tighten in his hair, her body tensing as he began to move slowly in and out of her.

He raised his head from her breast to murmur, "Easy, luv. Just lie back, relax, and let _me_ do all the work ..."

Even though he had forgotten to say it in Umshoko, she seemed to understand him nevertheless, apparently calmed by the tone of his voice, if not his actual words. He felt the tension ease, and he risked slipping a second digit into her beside the first, gently widening her passage with steady, measured thrusts.

Pressing one last kiss to her breast, he shifted his body lower, feeling the prickle of the dried coarse grass through his clothing as he moved. Pushing the grass skirt aside, he positioning himself between her legs, and lowered his mouth to her ...

Her reaction was immediate, and dramatic!

At the first touch of his skilled tongue, Maleeka arched her body with a small cry, pressing herself to Jack's mouth. Encouraged, he added a third finger, slipping in and out of her more easily as she grew wetter and her passage more relaxed.

Maleeka writhed against him, her hips rising and falling in a primal cadence nearly as old as time itself. His tongue and fingers worked faster, probed deeper, attuning themselves perfectly to her rhythm, until, at last, Maleeka cried out and pressed herself even more tightly against him. He felt the little fleshy bud twitch spasmodically under his lips, and his fingers were suddenly bathed in a rush of warm wetness. After a long, shuddering moment, she finally collapsed under him, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

As Jack pulled himself up along her body to enfold her in his arms, he noted her belly and chest were slick with perspiration. He held her until her breathing slowed, and her eyes opened to gaze into his with wonder and awe, and a newly-awakened passion.

Her look told him everything he needed to know.

She was ready now.

And clearly, as thorough as her people were in educating her in her obligations to the god and in how to pleasure a man, they had never prepared her for the possibility that she, too, could achieve pleasure.

"It's time, luv," he whispered. "Time to fulfil the prophecy."

She looked into his eyes, and nodded her head matter-of-factly. This is what she had been preparing for, practically all of her life. She was on familiar ground now. She knew what she had to do.

Extricating herself from Jack's embrace, Maleeka rose from the pallet, walking toward the fire. Her back still to Jack, she unfastened her grass skirt and let it fall to the floor, leaving her completely naked save for the wreath of now-crushed island flowers around her neck. Then she removed that as well, and turned ...

Despite himself, Jack's breath caught in his throat as he gazed at her, at the compact perfection of her dusky body. His eyes moved over her with an almost physical touch, like a lover's caress. _God, she really is beautiful! _he thought to himself. He couldn't believe he had ever thought otherwise.

She walked slowly toward him, hips swaying enticingly in practiced seduction, like a well-rehearsed dancer, and leaned down to kiss him, not frantic and panicked as earlier, but soft and leisurely. While her lips moved upon his mouth, her hands worked at his shirt, pulling it up and out of the waist of his breeches, then, running her hands tantalizingly up his naked chest, she pushed the material from his shoulders, peeling the sleeves down his arms until she had his shirt completely off.

As she stooped to kiss his chest, she stopped and gave a small cry of surprise. She ran her fingers tentatively over the twin pitted scars revealed there, then pulled her hand away quickly, as if afraid of hurting him.

"It's all right, Maleeka -- those are old scars, long since healed. You can't hurt me by touchin' them."

She nodded her head, knowingly. "It is known that, while in human form, the god is vulnerable to the same weaknesses of the flesh as any breathing man." She lay her hand on the scars, her fingers skimming his chest. "How much happier and more powerful you will be once you are released from this mortal prison!"

He thought to argue that point with her -- that he was very much attached to his fleshly prison, and had no desire to be freed from it -- but then she brought her lips to his chest, kissing the scars gently before moving on, tasting his nipples much as he had just done hers, before moving downward, in the direction of his navel, and beyond ...

She slipped to her knees in front of him, reaching for the sash around his waist, untying and removing it. Her hands moved to the front of his breeches, and for a moment she seemed confounded by the unfamiliar fastenings, her fingers fumbling with the buttons. He was just about to reach down to help her when she finally worked it out, and the flap came open ...

... and then he was in her warm hands, and she was gently kneading him, stroking him, kissing him, running her tongue around him. He twitched, swelled, and grew hard in her hands. He hissed in pleasure as the length of him disappeared between Maleeka's lips.

He had a moment of concern, remembering her people's cannibalistic tendencies, and hoping that, with his flesh now in her mouth, she did not suddenly find herself in the mood for a little snack. He was also mightily thankful that her teeth had _not _been filed to points ...

But those worries were soon laid to rest as she continued to put her mouth to more benign and pleasurable use. He had to give her tutors due credit -- she _had _been well-taught. He had been to brothels where the ladies-for-hire had not been as adept as this virgin girl. He had a moment to wonder at a culture that would teach a young, innocent girl how to do such things, and ponder the teaching methods used -- before her mouth engulfed him again, and he lost the capacity for coherent thought. He lay back, propped up on his bent arms, closed his eyes, and let Maleeka exercise her skill ...

And skilled she was! She soon had him worked up to an almost painful state of arousal. As he felt himself rapidly approaching release, he sat up suddenly, urging her up as well. "Maleeka, luv ..." he whispered urgently, "I want ... I _need _to take you, now ..."

As she came willingly to his arms, he pulled her to him, devouring her mouth with his, his hands freely roaming her body, drawing her passion out of her, coaxing it to the surface until she was as aroused as he was. He leaned back slightly, dragging her along with him, drawing her onto his lap so that her thighs straddled his. He ran his hands down over her naked bottom and upper legs, raising her up slightly and positioning her so that his inflamed tip was poised at her entrance. As he pressed against her, he could feel her, warm and wet and ready for him, but resisted the urge to take her. His hands lingered at her buttocks, supporting her until she grew used to the feel of him wedged between her legs.

"Whenever you're ready, luv ... take it as slow as you need to. Remember ... we're in no hurry. No need to rush ..."

He released her buttocks, surrendering control to her, her fate now entirely in her own hands. His palms glided up her back until they rested flat against her shoulder blades. Pulling her upper body toward him, he leaned forward to nuzzle and kiss her neck, then moved his mouth to her chest, his lips and tongue travelling across her cocoa-coloured skin, pausing to savour the succulent berries of her erect nipples. Drawing one carefully into his mouth, he suckled it gently, rolling it between his lips and laving the tip with little flicks of his tongue.

Maleeka gave a little sigh of pleasure, and eased down onto him a few centimetres.

He moved on to the right breast, giving it much the same treatment as the left. While his mouth worked on her right breast, his hand rose to gently rub and tease the left, lightly pinching its tip between thumb and forefinger, long experience informing him on the correct amount of pressure to exert in order to bring pleasure, not pain.

Maleeka whimpered, and eased down another few centimetres, her fingers winding into his dreadlocks. He felt the rise and fall of her chest under his hand and mouth as her breath quickened.

With his lips still busy at her breast, Jack reached down between them, the back of his hand gliding down her belly and abdomen, until his fingers parted her moist folds, finding the sensitive nub nested therein. His thumb started gently massaging, circling, teasing ...

Maleeka moaned deep in her throat, rising up slightly then easing down again, until, with a gasp, she froze as his tip came up against her maiden barrier.

Jack fought the urge to thrust up, reminding himself with an effort that she was fragile, delicate ... inexperienced. Not one of his typical lovers, accustomed to Jack's usual rough-and-tumble style of lovemaking.

But, despite the earlier pains he'd taken to prepare her, she still was so deliciously tight, and he was so incredibly aroused ...

He redoubled his efforts at her breast and pelvis, until she was trembling on the brink of her release. He bit down, so very gently, on her nipple, and then she was shuddering, plunging off that precipice, as, with a ululating cry, she achieved her climax. The sensation of her inner walls contracting around him pushed him over the edge as well and, no longer able to restrain himself, his hips surged upwards just as she, in the throes of her rapture, thrust down ...

Jack's breath hissed through his clenched teeth as he felt her barrier give way, and he suddenly found himself buried to the hilt within her, his seed pouring into her in pulsing spasms. Maleeka cried out once, sharply, in pain, then the breath seemed to go completely out of her body, and she went limp, falling bonelessly against his chest, to lie silent and still.

* * *


	3. Creating Memories

**Sacrifice  
**by Luvvycat

**

* * *

**

Chapter 3  
**Creating Memories**

_Oh, bugger ... I've killed her! _Jack thought in a panic as Maleeka continued to be a dead weight upon his chest. But then, after a few seconds, he felt her own chest fall and rise against his, and realized, with a flood of relief, that she had merely fainted.

He patted her cheek gently. "Maleeka! Maleeka, luv ... Wake up! I'm sorry, luv ... I didn't mean to hurt you! Wake up, darlin'!"

At last, her eyelids fluttered and, with a moan, she lifted her head from his chest. As she turned her face up to his, he could see the pain and confusion in her eyes. Still impaled on him, she tried to move, and moaned again as a fresh wave of pain hit her. He saw tears spring to her eyes.

"Easy, luv ... the worst part is over. I promise." He carefully eased her off of him, causing her to wince slightly as he slid out of her. He grimaced as he looked down at himself, and saw the traces of her blood on his semi-erect flesh. In spite of his best intentions and his most careful efforts, he had still ended up hurting her.

He took her face between his hands and kissed her, over and over. Stroking her damp brow, he captured her eyes with his, and said, with an utter sincerity rare for Jack Sparrow, "You're a brave girl, darlin' ... I want you to know that. A _very_ brave girl!" Encircling her with his arms, he hugged her to his chest.

"Did I please you?" she whispered, her breath teasing his left nipple.

"I can't tell you how much, luv!"

He felt her smile against his chest. "I am glad. It's only ... no one told me it would hurt so much ..."

_Of course, they wouldn't tell her something like that! _Jack felt an uncustomary pang of conscience. "I'm sorry about that, luv. I never wanted to hurt you ... I tried very hard _not_ to ..."

"It does not matter ... the prophecy is fulfilled, and now the rest is in the hands of the fates ..."

A question occurred to him, something he had been burning to ask. She was so naïve and innocent in some matters, and so knowing and skilled in others where a young girl should not be skilled. "Maleeka ... who taught you how to do ..." he paused and cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable about broaching the subject, "... what you did to me, before?"

She looked him directly in the face, unfazed by the question. "It is the Holy Man's sacred duty to prepare and guide every Chosen One in the ways of the god. It was he who showed me the way of pleasuring a man ... "

Though Jack had been around enough to know not to cast judgement on the strange practices of different cultures -- cannibalism being the one strong exception, of course; he would much prefer to do without the cannibalism -- he nevertheless found himself unreasonably disturbed by Maleeka's words, knowing all too well the base desires that motivated most men. _Sacred duty, my arse! _Jack thought to himself. _The fellow sounds like nothing but a soddin' old pervert, gettin' his jollies 'tutoring' innocent young girls!_

Quickly on the heels of that thought, his conscience piped up, _Who are you to cast stones, Jacky boy? _You're_ the one that just deflowered the girl ..._

Wincing inwardly, Jack told his conscience to sod off ...

"What happens now that the prophecy has been fulfilled?" Jack asked her.

She smiled weakly. "In the morning, when I leave here, I will go to the Holy Man, and he will perform certain rituals and cast the sacred bones. If he determines that I am carrying the god's child, then I will be confined to a hut, with only my mother and the Holy Man attending me, until the child is born."

"And if you _haven't _conceived?"

"I return to my family, and live out the rest of my days with them."

"Until you marry?"

She cast her eyes down. "No. I can never marry."

Jack was confused. "Why not?"

She looked up and met his eyes, hers serious and a little bit melancholy. "The Chosen One is for the god, and the god alone."

"Even after you have fulfilled your obligation? You mean ..."

She smiled, sadly, and repeated the words she had said earlier that evening. "No man of the tribe is permitted to lie with the Chosen One. Ever."

The enormity of Maleeka's sacrifice hit him then with the shock of a cold wave breaking over him, as he realized all she had given up -- much more than just her virginity, but all the things she would never have in her life.

"You mean ... tonight is to be your first, and your _last_, time? Tonight is all you'll ever know of a man's touch? For the rest of your life?"

Despite the sadness in her face, she was otherwise calm. "That is what it means to be the Chosen One," she replied, in a tone of total acceptance. "Once she is taken by the god -- once he claims her as his own -- no common man will dare touch her."

He thought what it would be like, to live the rest of his life bereft of human contact -- never to touch a woman's warm flesh, and be touched in return -- never to make love again.

It simply didn't bear contemplation. He would _never_ be able to do it.

For a fleeting moment of total insanity, he considered telling her the truth ... that he was _no_ god -- far from it! -- only a mere mortal, and a scurrilous, plundering, double-damned scallywag pirate at that! But honesty had never been a friend to Jack Sparrow, and he had always found that he paid dearly for any altruistic act. Honesty was what got him mutinied upon and marooned on a desert island by Hector Barbossa nearly eleven years ago, and one act of selfless heroism in saving a certain governor's daughter from drowning had eventually led to his capture and incarceration -- and nearly his death -- in Port Royal.

Besides, Maleeka had already given up so much tonight, and all she had left right now was her belief that she had done what she had done for the sake of her people, and in honour of their god. He had already taken her innocence. He found he could not take her faith from her as well.

But what, then, could he give her? What could he leave her with, besides possibly a bastard child, and the hollow comfort of yet more lies? How could he compensate her for what she had given?

The only thing that occurred to him was paltry payment, indeed, but all he could think to give ...

He stood before her, drawing her up with him, taking both her hands between his. "Maleeka ... my Chosen One. Your faith and devotion humbles me, for I well know how unworthy I am of it." She made as if to protest, but he leaned forward and stifled her words with a gentle kiss. "I can't tell you how much I regret the sacrifice you have had to make, and the ones you will continue to make for the rest of your life, because of me."

He raised her clasped hands to his lips. "But there is something I can do for you, luv, the memories of which, I hope, will sustain you in the dark and lonely days ahead." He released her hands, and stepped back from her, spreading his arms, palms up, as though offering himself to her. "For the rest of this night, Maleeka ... and for what remaining time we have left together, before the daylight comes ..." He shrugged, and gave her a little, self-deprecating grin, "I am for _you_."

She stared at him a moment in confusion, then her eyes widened in comprehension, and she ran to him, fairly leaping into his outstretched arms.

* * *

The first time they had been together, he had only been concerned with arousing her as quickly as possible, and preparing her for her sacrifice ...

The second time, they had both been focused on fulfilling the prophecy and ridding her of her virginity ...

This time, he actually took the time and care to _make love _to her, knowing it was her last time to experience physical love, and, with the odds of his escaping his fiery fate dwindling hour by hour, most likely _his_ last time as well ...

He sat down on the bed, and drew her onto his lap, cradling her for a moment against his chest. Then Maleeka draped her arms loosely around his neck, and turned her lips up to his in invitation, and he was more than happy to accept the offering ...

Sweet, leisurely kisses gradually turned into soft caresses, feather-light touches, and gentle, unhurried explorations as their hands moved across each other. Not by nature a considerate or giving lover -- a fact which had gotten his face slapped on many an occasion, by very many women -- Jack nevertheless made an effort this time to savour each moment, prolong each sensation, draw out each source of pleasure he could, to his delight as well as Maleeka's.

When he entered her for the second time that night, Maleeka tightened with the residual ache of her torn maidenhead, but as he started moving within her with slow, careful strokes, she relaxed, her hands travelling down his back, over the breadth of his shoulders, the small of his waist, to rest on his hips as they rose and fell against her.

They undulated together, he leading her, she rising up to meet him, until they moved as one, two well-matched dancers flowing in perfect time to the same rhythm. His clever hands played her like a master musician, his deft fingers plucking the strings of her passion, her body responding to his expert touch, until both player and instrument reached their crescendo in unison, their low moans of desire and soft cries of rapture filling the air like the sweetest of music ...

And then they collapsed into each other's arms, and started the dance all over again ...

* * *

Jack and Maleeka made love until the dawn started lightening the sky, and it was time for her to go.

They were both silent as Maleeka left Jack's arms and rose from his bed, to reclaim and re-don her meagre bits of clothing. His dark, glittering eyes watched her as she prepared to leave, appreciating the easy grace of her movements, the flexing of her muscles as she arched her back and reached behind her to retie her bandeau, then bent to retrieve her discarded skirt from the floor. She was no longer the shy, hesitant, desperate child who had walked into his hut the previous night, and he was both somewhat proud as well as a little bit regretful about the role he had played in bringing about that change in her.

He knew he did not love her, nor she him, but he had done the best he could by her. He hoped it was enough ...

He also knew that, after tomorrow, he likely would never see her again -- either because he had gone to the roasting spit and was no more, or else because he had escaped his fate and left the island, in which case he intended never to return again.

She moved toward the door, and he thought for a moment that she would leave without saying a word to him. But then she hesitated, and turned ...

She ran back to him, pressed something into his hand, then pulled his face to hers and kissed him soundly. "I will never forget you, Esteemed One," she whispered against his lips as the kiss ended, touching his face one last time, her chocolate eyes peering into his. On a whim, he kissed the tip of her nose, smiled his crooked smile, and winked at her. And then she was gone, the swaying of the curtain at the door and the lingering scent of her in the air the only indication that she had ever been there.

He uncurled his fingers and looked down at what she had given him. In the centre of his palm lay a human tooth attached to a thin hook-shaped sliver of bone -- one of the earrings she had been wearing the previous night.

Something glinted in the firelight, a brief flash of quicksilver in his palm, and he looked more closely at the earring. Picking it up by its hook and dangling it before his eyes, he noticed that the tooth was set with a diamond stud.

He thought back to a captain who had used to frequent the bars in Tortuga, regaling everyone with strange tales of his adventures at sea -- a slaver by the name of Murgatroyd who had plied the African coast. As he recalled, the man's most distinguishing feature had been that one of his front teeth had been inset with a chip of diamond -- a souvenir, as he told it, of a skirmish with a bloodthirsty band of South African diamond smugglers.

It suddenly occurred to him that it had been quite a while since he, or anyone on Tortuga for that matter, had seen the fellow, or any of his crew. The prevailing opinion was that he had run afoul of the authorities, and had gone into hiding.

Eyeing the spangled earbob, Jack suspected he now knew the real reason for the old slaver's sudden and strange disappearance ...

_Well, Murgatroyd, old mate,_ he thought, _Unless a miracle happens and I find a way out of this mess, I suppose I'll be seeing you very soon ... _

Then, quickly on the heels of that thought:

_I do hope there's rum in the afterlife ..._

Taking the macabre earbob, he threaded it into one of his braids -- yet another token among the many already hanging from his tangled locks, then turned his mind back again to formulating a plan of escape ...

* * *


	4. Epilogue

**Sacrifice  
**by Luvvycat

**

* * *

**

Epilogue

Later that day, Jack resumed his usual Chiefly duties, which consisted mainly of sitting on a throne comprised of human skulls and bones, alternating between receiving tributes from worshippers, making the occasional decision as tribal leader, when petitioned to do so by the tribe, and dozing. While "on duty" he wore an elaborate headdress adorned with various dried body parts and ossified human remains, and brandished a strange feathered sceptre.

Today, however, he could not afford to doze, for though he appeared to lounge languidly upon his macabre throne, his mind was still furiously working, trying to come up with a way to slip the collar and run. He knew that the Pelegostos' feast would take place the next day, at sunset, so he had a little over twenty-four hours to devise a means of escaping his fiery, pyre-y fate.

As the sun crept slowly toward the horizon on its way to setting for the night, he opened his eyes, and glanced up. Beyond the throng of Pelegostos gathering for the evening repast, his eye was drawn to a movement in front of one of the huts ...

Maleeka, flanked by the shaman and an older woman who bore a vague resemblance to her, stood at the door of the hut. Before going in, Maleeka turned, and her dark eyes met Jack's for a long moment. Smiling faintly, she glanced down, and lay a hand against her abdomen, before looking up again, nodding once, and giving Jack a quick wink -- an echo of his parting gesture to her that morning. To him, her meaning was clear.

Jack only had time for a quick wink back and a brief flash of his golden smile, before Maleeka turned and entered the hut, followed by the other two Pelegostos. The curtain fell back into place, and the three figures disappeared from view.

Jack accepted the silent news of his impending fatherhood with mixed feelings. Regardless of what happened now (assuming the shaman's divination was correct, of course, which wasn't at all a certainty in Jack's mind) -- whether he lived to escape this savage island, or perished tomorrow on the roasting spit -- he knew he wouldn't be there to see his son ... or daughter ... born. He was surprised to find that he harboured feelings of mild regret about that -- after all, when charting the course of his life, children had never factored into his calculations.

But, if he were to be brutally honest with himself -- something he generally avoided doing -- he considered it was likely better that his child be raised here, among Maleeka's people. A pirate ship was no place for a helpless infant, not when the possibility of danger and death hung constantly in the air like a malignant cloud. And, if he were to leave the child in the care of another, of all the women of his most intimate acquaintance, to whom could he reasonably entrust a child's upbringing? Anamaria? Giselle and Scarlett? Tia Dalma?

No. He simply couldn't separate a mother from her child, and Maleeka seemed to be a decent sort, if one overlooked the fact that she was a savage cannibal. And there was nothing he could give a child, after all ... no legacy except a dubious family pedigree and the notoriety of his name.

Here, among the Pelegostos, his child would be raised to be Chief and treated with honour and reverence, as befitted the progeny of a god. Out there, in the world beyond this little island, he or she would merely be looked on as a the by-blow of a nefarious pirate, and treated with the scorn, derision, and ignominy reserved by "polite society" for the pitiable offspring of such lowly criminals. There would be no feasting, no tributes, no respect for the scion of the notorious and quasi-legendary Captain Jack Sparrow.

Yes ... he supposed there were worse things that could happen to a child than being raised by cannibals.

Besides, how could he possibly be responsible for a child's life, when he had trouble enough looking after his _own_ skin? Look what had happened to his crew, after all ... men who had trusted him to lead them to safety -- at least, as much as _any_ pirate crew could trust their Captain, which wasn't saying much ...

As though to punctuate this unhappy thought, two Pelegostos, shouldering the long roasting spit between them, bore in yet another hapless crewmember fetched from the bony cages, bound and, this time, mercifully gagged.

As the natives arranged the spit above the stack of wood that would shortly become a cooking pyre, and prepared to light it, panic made all thoughts not relating to self-preservation fly from Jack's mind ...

Though not a particularly devout or religious man, Jack nevertheless found himself silently, fervently praying -- to God, to Calypso, to all the fabled and forgotten gods of every ancient culture that ever existed -- whoever up there would deign to hearken to the pleas of a disreputable and sinning pirate. He prayed for a solution, for inspiration, for salvation ... in short, for a miracle.

And time was quickly running out. If a miracle were to happen, if he and the rest of his crew were to be saved, it had to be soon ...

Twenty-four hours, more or less ...

That's all he had ...

And then it would be his turn on the spit ...

Jack closed his eyes, as he always did, when they set the torch to the pyre. The smells were bad enough; he really didn't need the visuals as well. As the acrid reek of scorched cloth and burning hair started to fill the air, he felt the bile rise to his throat, and, as he usually did when faced with the unbearably horrific without the familiar and comforting oblivion of rum, he sought to retreat to that little haven of detachment in his mind, where reality and fantasy blurred together into something resembling an opium-eater's delusion -- that internal refuge that allowed him to survive, to carry on, no matter what, with his sanity (arguably) intact.

Jack prayed ... prayed that the gag would hold long enough ... prayed that someone would have the mercy to deliver a killing blow before the screaming started.

He _really_ didn't want to hear the screaming ...

Not again ...

_BuggerBuggerBugger!_

There was a cloth-muffled wail, cut short by a pulpy _thud_ like a melon being split ...

_If anyone's listening up there ... please ... Help me ... !_

And then, the odour of roasting flesh, and the sound of knives being sharpened ...

_SAVE ME ... !!_

_**

* * *

**_

Author's note:

_Sorry to leave this tale on such a dark and dismal note, but anyone who has seen DMC already knows how the story ends: Will arrives the next day, setting in motion a chain of events that results in the freeing of the Black Pearl's crew (at least, the half that DIDN'T plung to their deaths in the chasm) and Jack's successful escape from the island._

_Please, feel free to leave reviews and comments._

_Thanks for reading!_

_-- Cat_


End file.
